The Sapphire Queen
by CrazedMarshmallow
Summary: Inheritance Cycle AU: By a turn of fate, the priceless dragon egg being transported by an elven princess does not end up in the hands of a farmboy, but hatches in the hands of Nasuada, once destined to be a queen, now set on the path to be a mythical Dragon Rider of old.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Something was wrong.

Arya stopped, her companions reining in their horses alongside her. The night was completely silent, but for the faint breeze rustling the canopy of the forest high up above. No screeching, no chirping, no noise.

The sound of a stick snapping resounded between the trees. The wind changed, carrying the stench of urgal on it; the horses growing wild.

A shout rose, and a rider turned his horse and bolted back along the path, crying for support from the forest patrols. Violent, angry sounds came from the underbrush; urgals wielding bows.

The archers began to loose their arrows. They met only the escorts' large shields, clanging loudly against the metal. The riders turned, spurring the horses into gallop straight into the archers, riding them down and scattering them. Grunts followed, and-

The dull thump of an axe cleaving flesh and hitting bone, followed by the screaming of a horse. Arya and two of her companions saw the signal given by those engaging in combat, and turned their horses to the road, riding away from the battle hard.

Arrows flew by, one nicking her arm. She hissed in pain, grimacing, but otherwise sparing no time to stop and respond to the ambush in kind. Her mission was of utmost urgency, and was now in extreme danger.

_How did urgals penetrate so deeply into Du Weldenvarden?, _a voice in the depths of her mind wondered. Her wandering thought was answered a moment later, as a strangely echoing scream could be heard from behind, one seemingly layered with many voices. Arya slowed long enough to turn and look safely, and saw a pale figure with fiery hair engaging her escort. A Shade. She cringed, relieved to have escaped the trap, but pained by the knowledge that others would suffer on her behalf. She quickly checked the laceration on her arm; a minor cut, no damage. And apparently no poison.

She dismissed the injury, deeming it superficial. With great urgency, she spurred her horse forward along the road. It lead east, originating in Osilon and leading to the far eastern edges of the forest. And it was entirely the wrong way to be fleeing in this case. There were few settlements with enough manpower to resist a Shade anywhere nearby along this road, but she had no other option. Getting lost in the wilderness would not save her.

From behind, she heard a roaring of wind as some spell was uttered by someone: the Shade or her escort, Arya did not know. When she spared a glance, she saw wind rushing to quell flames in the distance. Cursing, she turned back to the path, continuing to follow it out of necessity.

She rode hard for hours, one of the benefits of elven horses, before slowing and dismounting, hoping that she was free of pursuit. She checked the pouch at her waist for the tenth time since her escape from the skirmish. It was still there, cool to the touch. The dragon inside slumbered peacefully. Arya tucked away the pouch again, checking her surroundings. The road split up ahead, one branch winding away from her, running parallel to small stream running down the incline. If she remembered her last trip this way correctly, another hour at a decent pace would get her to a small town on the road. She breathed deep, sending out a mental probe in search of other elven minds. She felt some, still some distance away, and clambered back onto her horse.

Within minutes of riding toward the township, she was able to contact the scouts, and warn them of the danger. They acknowledged her message, and another escort was quickly sent to escort her to the village, and messengers sent on their way to the closest towns and cities.

Arya spent the night in the village, resting after her ordeal. She dreamt of that voice, a Shade. Nightmares. He captured her, he tortured her endlessly. _Where is the egg?_ she thought, panicked. It was gone. The Shade tortured her, made her his plaything, and her egg was gone.

She woke with a start to violent shouts; bolting upright to be greeted with the sight of a blaze out the window. Arya heard urgals grunting, and she rushed to the window, still groggy. She could tell that there were far fewer of the beasts than earlier - clearly, her guards had dispatched most of them, but the Shade was far more involved, this time. Words of the ancient tongue streamed from him lips, and the flames spread, blazing anew with the Shade's every breath.

Soon, the urgals were dead, and many of the townsfolk were advancing on the Shade. A few fell to the flames, screaming in agony as the flames turned a searing blue.

Arya wasted no time gaping at the horror. She once again checked that the pouch- the egg, was still at her waist, grabbed her sword and dashed out of the building, fleeing along the southern road.

It stung her heart to leave the hamlet so, to abandon those who willing laid down their lives for her cause, but if she did not, then the egg would be lost, and the sacrifice was all for nothing.

Tears welled in her eyes as she ran, but she set her jaw, resolute.

The forest burned in her wake.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Nasuada stifled a yawn, trying to pay attention to the droning voices from across the table. She knew that the meetings were important, but why did that mean that _she_ had to take part in them?

Of course, she knew that it was vital she learn the skills needed to deal with the various factions that made up the Varden and her allies. Knew she needed experience dealing with these very people, just as her father and his advisors reminded her so often.

But Nasuada simply hadn't the patience. She wanted to be out on the training grounds, to be _outside_. After all, was it not prudent for her to learn to fight in any way she could? She was just itching to get out, having been cooped up in Tronjheim for months now.

She took a sip of water, eyeing the nearly empty wine pitcher in the middle of the gleaming, marble table. And how much there still was in Ajihad's own goblet. He'd taken small sips, and no refills during the meeting, allowing the men sitting across from him to down several cups' worth.

He never let her partake in wine before the meetings, or during them. He said it was important she stay alert, but even on those rare occasions he did allow her to drink after the meetings, he often took note of how much she drank, and instructed her to hold her tongue.

It was altogether enough to make Nasuada feel caged. Too restricted. Not allowed to practise, to train, to drink, to leave. At times, it was maddening. Even when he gave her leave of the city, she was required to have an escort of armed guards. However, the necessity did not change her feelings. And she _itched_ to leave.

Nasuada tuned back into the meeting, coming back from her own thoughts. Ajihad was clearly finishing up; goblets drained quickly, everyone standing from their seats. "... and we hope for your continued support and friendship, especially in the coming months, where we will have great need of you."

Ajihad shook the mens' hands. Nasuada stood, plastering a smile on her face and curtsying slightly. Their guests bowed deep, and left.

When the heavy stone doors drew shut behind them, Nasuada let out the yawn she'd been stifling, and stretched, earning a short glare from Ajihad. "You weren't paying attention," he said flatly, leaning over the table with his palms flat. "_Again_. I instructed you to be attentive, Nasuada."

She felt a small surge of annoyance and resentment. "Does it really matter?" she snapped, knowing full well the answer, and regretting the words instantly.

He did not shout, speak louder, or voice annoyance or disappointment in her, merely giving her a flat look and replying, "Yes."

Nasuada _hated_ when he did that. He still somehow managed to convey his disappointment, with barely even a change of tone. "It's not like it was an important meeting, though. I caught snatched, here and there… ."

"Yes, snatches," he replied. "Perhaps it was not the specific content, but the overall conversation. Perhaps there were subtleties to pick up on, weaknesses to be exploited?"

She knew his arguments already; she understood that he was right, but she couldn't just back down now, so she simply chose not to speak. Ajihad continued.

"The point _is_, you weren't paying attention. I am trying to teach you how to manage things here for when you take up duties."

"Yes, father," she said.

"In future, I expect your input," he said, "and not a girl playing with her hair."

He picked up a pair of scrolls leftover from the meeting, and left the remained seated for a while, biting her lip in embarrassment and frustration. His leaving meant she had permission to do as she wished, but she still felt guilty.

She decided to practice in her makeshift archery range. It was nothing more than an empty room with a couple of dummies stolen from the practice field, but she had to be somewhat secretive. She had been able to bully a few of her guards and instructors into keeping quiet about her habit of practicing with weapons. Her father disapproved. It was a blind spot of his.

Ajihad was still … old fashioned, in some ways. He did not believe that a young girl should be trained with weapons. Nasuada had no idea what he thought she did in her spare time, but if he suspected that she practiced with weapons, she expected that he'd put an immediate stop to it. Despite the obvious practicality and necessity of training: they were after all, in a war.

Whatever the case, she always made sure to be careful when training, and this time was no different. She let the guards sweep her rooms, and then left them at the doors outside before proceeding into the empty room and pulling out the dummies and a bow.

The repetitive motions helped her to think at times, once she'd learned to employ them smoothly and effectively; draw, aim, release. The twang of the string was relaxing, in a way.

She hit the dummy dead center.

As she practiced, she came to the conclusion that Ajihad was often thinking further ahead than she had a tendency to do. Nasuada had never really given much thought to the future beyond the Varden. True, she expected to one day take Ajihad's place, to lead the Varden against the empire, but beyond that?

Draw, aim, release.

He was clearly grooming her to take charge here, there was no doubt about that. But what about beyond the Varden? Once they had pulled down Galbatorix and left the empire at it's knees?

Draw, aim, release.

As the arrow tore through the dummy's head, she saw it: Ajihad expected her to not just take charge of the Varden, but of the whole empire. He intended for her to be empress. Or rather, queen- as the empire's very structure was a problem for them.

_He intends for me to be queen? Of course!_, she thought.

She thought it over for a moment.

Draw. Aim. Release.

Nasuada found that she didn't resent the idea. In fact, it was exciting! Naturally, it was a daunting prospect, ruling the entire country, but the idea of being queen? It _excited_ her. She could make a real change, without having to inflict a horrifying war upon the people. She could make things better. She could be at the top of the world.

Certainly, this thought process must be part of the reason why Ajihad did not want her training in weapons. But did not emperors and kings take up arms when necessary? Could they not defend themselves, or fight against the enemy? Of course they could; so why not a queen?

She still found his logic in that area lacking. Thus, she continued to defy him: Draw, aim. Release.

Not defying him, in this case, would simply be impractical. There was still a war to fight in the interim. Would he have her stand by and do nothing while the few warriors they had gave their lives? The Varden needed every hand they could spare, every advantage they could get.

Still, this idea of one day becoming the queen of Alagaesia… well, that was something.

Suddenly, the dummy didn't seem like adequate target practice anymore. Perhaps it was time to tag along with one of the hunting parties leaving the city.


End file.
